


The one with a date doctor

by big_dog_little_dove



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-03 12:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11532099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/big_dog_little_dove/pseuds/big_dog_little_dove
Summary: i'm sure we've all thought that the hound could use some advice on how to talk to women. i watched hitch and i was inspired. my hitch is salladhor saan and his client is sandor clegane so it's not all sweet vanilla. i could use a btter title. if you have ideas please review.





	1. Chapter 1

Sandor POV  
This was undignified and for him to think that was saying something. Sandor drank like a fish, swore like a sailor and, as a result, got into drunken bar brawls. Sitting outside in the cold waiting for a match-maker who would probably take one look at him and decide there was no way in hell he’d take the job was more humiliating than walking out of lock-up on Sunday in Friday’s clothes with a hangover and a black eye. Getting stood up wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen here. If this guy didn’t show he’d just take the hint, drown his sorrows, blow off some steam and move on. If he did show then something far worse could happen: he could hope. Don’t be confused by Sandor’s actions in trying to procure the services of a “date doctor”. He wasn’t actually hoping. It was something he needed to do so he could get this unrequited pining out of his system. That’s what Elder Brother said. Well, Elder Brother said he’d never know if he never tried but that was just an optimist’s way of telling you to get something out of your system and Sandor Clegane really needed to get Sansa Stark out of his system.  
Sansa Stark: beautiful, delicate, heiress. He met her working for his ex-boss and her ex-boyfriend. The little brat’s father dragged Jofferey and by extension Sandor (and everyone else) to that cold, cold place to secure a merger with his friend and business associate Ned Stark. All the Starks and what Sandor thought was most of their employees were waiting to greet the party outside a hotel they owned when they got there. Sandor couldn’t tell if it was polite or just pompous. Then he saw her and he really didn’t give a damn which it was. Sansa was wearing a blue dress that brought out her eyes. Her hair was styled in curls and braids so intricate even Sandor “The Hound” Clegane wonder how many hours and people it took and how they managed not to trip over each other. She was wearing silver heels and the dress ended above her knees, accentuating her mile-long legs. Whenever Sandor met a pretty girl he knew would never even talk to him he amused himself (or consoled if you asked the Elder Brother) by picking them apart. Everything from their figure to their clothes to attitude.  
Sansa Stark was not a girl you could pick apart. She was gorgeous, more than that, she was perfect. Her dress was conservative enough for well, the conservatives but beautiful enough to impress any fashion blogger. It was intricate and stylish without being flashy and yet managed to be simple enough to be elegant. When Sandor found out that she’d designed the thing herself (along with all the other things she wore) he just wanted to break something. Sansa was the secret behind Alayne Stone, a highly exclusive brand that annoying socialites never shut up about. The perfectly matched shoes were her own creation too. And don’t get Sandor started on the annoying socialites and the shoes. Why women needed so many of them he would never know. He had shoes he wore to work, shoes he wore to work around his home, shoes he wore to work out and that was it. He had an extra pair for each in case of damage or emergency. Why anyone needed a hundred pairs of shoes (or how the hell they kept track of them) he decided was something you needed a vagina to understand.  
The very worst thing about Sansa Stark was her personality. Sandor spent his life standing around being invisible. If that had taught him anything it was that behind every smile and kind gesture was a catty bitch (the jerks didn’t even bother with smiles, unless you counted the leering ones). This girl was genuine. It made Sandor want to kill her and impregnate her at the same time. She thought Jofferey was an actual human being and agreed to go out with him when she and her sister moved to King’s Landing with their dad when he went to iron out the proposed deal. Every time the little asshole did something assholey he would apologize to her, she would accept and she would talk to him about how to grow as a person and make better decisions in the future. Jofferey had insulted her clothes one night and she had taken it so personally Sandor offered her his handkerchief then a glass of wine and two hours later they were gabbing away at the bar of Jofferey’s suite. The little snot had gone out to who cares where.  
“I’m not conceited, I promise I’m not,” she slurred, “And I’m not vain either but this is important to me,” she pointed to her pencil skirt and small jacket thing. “I’m a designer. This,” she ran her hand along her leg, “Is my passion. I don’t have a lot of time to design clothes, which is why Alayne Stone is small.”  
“If Alayne Stone is the thing every tramp who’s been through here talks about then small isn’t the word I’d use to describe it,” Sandor scoffed.  
“Well it’s done better than I thought it would. Since I can’t raise the volume, boutiques raise the prices. I suppose I could get it down to department store standard and have it made in bulk but that would feel like a betrayal,” she put her hand on her heart like she’d be betraying someone she loves, “My heart and soul goes into every stitch and my mom taught me how to sow. It’s something we used to do together, embroidering cushions and things. In a way, I feel like she’s why I’m here and to give it anything less than 100% would be spitting on her… and my father… and everything they taught me. Honour might have become a forgotten word but it still means something in my family.”  
“Uh huh,” Sandor rolled his eyes. Of course Sansa wanted to make her parents proud, she was the perfect daughter and child and everything. “Wait a minute, why did I not know you were behind that crap?”  
“Alayne Stone is not crap!” she swatted him.  
“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded. He didn’t think the clothes were crap. He was just sick of hearing about these particular ones, “But your daddy is a zillionaire. Shouldn’t your name be all over this?”  
“I wanna be judged on my own merit,” she stuck her finger up, “And I like what little privacy I have now. Also all my friends would harass me.”  
“Those bitches aren’t your friends,” he’d tried to warn her, “And if dressmaking is your passion why are you getting an MBA?”  
“’Cause every member of my family has to get one. Stark Industries is a family business and there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. That’s not actually the business headquarters it’s our family home but it has a road built directly to the main office because that’s where the Starks live and that’s where the Starks work,” she explained to him. It didn’t make the most sense in the worl but she wasn’t exactly sober.  
“Do you want to be in business school?” he asked her.  
“I want to do right by my family,” she said earnestly, “And I like learning. It’s challenging. Don’t you ever want to take on something new?”  
“I don’t know,” he said when he realised she was actually asking.  
“I think you could surprise yourself,” she smiled. And Sandor’s heart turned into melted butter.  
“I need to go and you need to sleep,” he got up and unceremoniously walked out. This was stupid. Jofferey was a prick but he was the prick who paid his salary. His parents were rather vicious when crossed (actually one of them even before that). The Starks were protective of their whole family. They wouldn’t want him sniffing around their princess. No, no, no, no and no. He made it his mission in life to avoid her since then. Jofferey’s treatment of her got worse and Sandor tried to help her in his own way (which most people, including Sansa, found offensive). When Ned Stark found out about Jofferey’s treatment of his daughter (who had been keeping her problem to herself to keep from complicating her father’s business deal) he abandoned the deal he was already having doubts about and took his family home. He got a new employee out of the deal.  
When Sandor heard that the Stark’s and crew were moving back home he quit his job and told Ned Stark he wanted to give his service to someone worthy of it. He left out that the thought of not seeing the man’s eldest daughter again gave him pain in his chest and made him feel like he was going to vomit. Ned Stark had welcomed him into his service. So Sandor moved a thousand miles to stare at a woman he could never have. About a year into it the frustration got to him. He ended up with a court ordered therapist and now he’s ended up with a matchmaker. Which is why he was freezing his ass off.  
“I hope she’s single ‘cause a break-up will cost you,” a chocolate coloured man with a beard sat down next to him.  
“She’s single,” Sandor nodded without looking up.  
“How long have you been in love with her?” this Salladhor Saan person smiled.  
“I’m pleading the fifth on that,” he Sandor crossed his arms.  
“Who is this woman I’m helping you sweep off her feet?” Saan saw that this guy would not be very forthcoming.  
“Sansa Stark,” Sandor fessed up after clearing his throat.  
“Sansa Stark?!” Saan burst into laughter (he really couldn’t help it), “You swing for the fence!”  
“You think I don’t know how insane this is?!” Sandor turned, furious, “She’s 5 11” with big blue eyes and flowing red hair. Her skin is milk, she has the body of a goddess and she’s made of sugar and spice and all things nice. On top of all this she’s a fucking Stark! I’ve tried killing this thing I have for her but all that got me was arrested. My court appointed therapist thinks I need to take a shot and an associate says you can actually get me one. You gonna help me or not?”  
“I have a thriving business because pretty girls turn men into idiots,” Salladhor smiled, “I know how to get women out of their own way.”  
“I don’t need the advertising,” Sandor was not gonna like this guy.  
“It’s not advertising,” his companion smirked, “When you do something and do it well it can get monotonous. This must be how Michelangelo felt when he saw that ceiling,” he sighed dreamily, “Let’s go get you Sansa Stark.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Does she know you?”  
“How do you mean?”  
“Does she know you’re interested?”  
“Well…”  
“Does she know you’re alive?!”  
“Yes, she knows I’m fucking alive!”  
Salladhor was trying not to get impatient but getting information out of this guy was like pulling teeth!  
“What’s Miss Stark’s take on you?”  
“You’d have to ask her that!” Sandor Clegane was not a mind reader and this match maker was starting to piss him off.  
“I am trying to help you here,” Saan pointed out, “You are paying me a lot of money and I got out of robbing people. In order for me to help you I need information. You can know what a woman thinks of you if you pay attention but that’s not the class you’re paying me for so just tell me about your interactions with her.”  
“I wait for her to finish breakfast then I follow her to work,” Sandor starts to explain.  
“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Saan held up his hand, “I can’t work around a restraining order.”  
“I’m her bodyguard,” Sandor explained.  
“Well,” Saan laughed, “This just got less creepy.”  
“Thank you,” his mentee replied sullenly. Sandor walked his “consultant” through Sansa’s schedule.   
“So, you’re the hulking, sulky shadow outside of whatever room she’s in,” Salladhor summarised. Sandor just shrugged. He couldn’t exactly argue. “Okay, the first thing we need to do is make her see you as something other than a lumbering brute. What do you do other than your job?”  
“I work out?” Sandor wasn’t sure this guy wanted.  
“How is that branching out from being a lumbering brute?” Saan wanted to role his eyes.  
“I read,” Sandor growled.  
“Good,” Saan clung on to this, “What are you currently reading?”  
“The art of…” Sandor trailed off.  
“Don’t say ‘The art of war’,” Saan smacked his forehead.  
“I didn’t, did I?” Sandor was practically yelling now.  
“What do you do that she would like?” the matchmaker enunciated, trying to calm the situation down.  
“I volunteer at the pound,” Sandor told him, “She likes dogs.”  
“Good,” Saan raised his hands to the heavens like manna had just fallen, “Let’s get you a dog!”  
“I have a dog,” Sandor pointed to the bowl on the floor of his kitchen.   
“I study women,” Saan shrugged, “Not men. And really: you should have led with that!”  
“How is my having a dog gonna help me?” Clegane was perplexed, “You want me to take Stranger to work and offer to let her pet him?”  
“Sansa Stark is beautiful, rich and famous,” Saan told him, “Her father pays you enough to pay me to scare off the men who throw themselves at her. Before that I’m sure she had to beat them off with a stick. If you try to approach her, you will be standing there with a thousand other assholes and she will be rolling her eyes before you even ask how she is. You have to get her to come to you.”  
“Okay,” it was making sense to Sandor.  
“You also look and act like a Roman gladiator so this gives us a chance to show her the softer side of Sandor Clegane,” Saan went on.  
Xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxX  
“This is so stupid,” Sandor shook his head, “Sorry I brought you into this but if it goes well you can eat only the dog food with labels I can’t pronounce,” he petted Stranger. He had his dog sitter deliver him right before Sansa was going to lunch. According to Salladhor Saan he needed the dog to be there when Sansa had free time and he couldn’t leave her alone so he and his now-annoyed dog were pacing outside her office.  
“Mr Clegane,” Sansa almost walked into them.  
“Miss Stark,” Sandor bowed his head, “My dog sitter had a family emergency and Stranger is a grouchy mother fuc- he’s a very picky dog. I’m sorry to bring him to work. He won’t be here that long. We can’t take him to a restaurant but if you wanna eat in the downstairs conference room we can walk around outside or if you wanna eat on the grounds you’ll have two bodyguards,” she was supposed to have interrupted by now, “And your very own canine unit. Hey, if you’ll eat at the dog park and throw him a frisbee you’ll have your own religion,” interrupt already, “Really, he’ll worship you. Hell, I might too-  
“Okay,” Sansa smiled, “I’d like that.”  
“If we worshipped you?” Sandor had rambled on so much he didn’t know what Sansa was referring to.  
“If you took me to the dog park,” Sansa laughed, “I think your arrival was perfectly timed,” she knelt and petted Stranger (and Sandor had a mild heart attack because he thought he was caught and Stranger might do something regrettable because he really was a grouchy mother fucker), “I’m designing for a wedding and I need inspiration,” she scratched the dog’s neck and he leaned into her touch and purred, “Some fresh air and a change of environment might do me good.”  
Xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxX  
Don’t be a statue, Sandor repeated what Saan had told him, Speak to the girl. She has to start seeing you as a man not the freakin’ terminator! Talk about something that interests her. You get paid to go panting after her like a trained dog so you should be able to think of something.  
“I didn’t know you did weddings,” he started.  
“I normally don’t but my uncle is marrying my brother’s ex-girlfriend and they don’t have a theme for that at the mall,” Sansa giggled. It felt like the most ridiculous thing in the world. Sansa isn’t usually one to say things like that but one of the few things she knew about Sandor Clegane is that he was discreet.  
“That girl dated one of your brothers?” Sandor hadn’t known, “Well she’s certainly young enough,” he blurted. Sansa laughed. This was true. Roslyn was nineteen years old.  
“Actually, my mother thought she was a little young for Robb,” Sansa found herself laughing some more. Though her bodyguard’s manners sometimes made her wince she found it freeing because she knew she could say anything to him. “Most people think she’s after his money but she’s actually quite lovely and I want to give her a wedding dress that reflects her personality. She has an innocence about her.”  
“She should. She’s a teenage girl,” Sandor pointed out.  
“When you put it like that it sounds gross,” Sansa swatted his arm, “Can we buy hot dogs?”  
“You don’t need my permission,” he responded in his usual gruff manner, “We can buy anything you like,” he couldn’t help smiling, realising she had included him.   
“I’ve never bought from a food cart before,” she whispered, “Let’s buy quickly because I feel like wherever she is my mother can hear me and she’ll swoop in here and scare that poor man out of selling to me,” she ran over. Stranger dragged him after her on his leash. Sandor could certainly understand her impulse to whisper and run. Catelyn Stark was a scary lady. “Two hot dogs please.”  
“Chilli or tomato sauce?”  
“Surprise me,” Sansa had always wanted to say that, “Oh my word!”   
“What’s wrong?” Sandor was immediately at her side.  
“I have no cash,” she looked so sad he wanted to take her in his arms and tell her everything was okay.  
“I’ve got it,” Sandor pulled out his wallet and handed over a twenty, “Give me two root beers and keep the change.”  
“Thank you,” Sansa took the hot dogs and handed one to her companion, “I’ll get the next one?” she beamed. Sansa found it insulting when people offered to pay back a kind gesture but she also found it made her the need to reciprocate.   
“Yeah- Sure- That would be- Yeah,” he tried not to smile too widely. She was just offering to buy him lunch because he bought hers. And his scars looked worse when he smiled.   
“Hold these,” she passed him both the hot dogs, “Those flowers look gorgeous,” she took off her heels. Sansa knew a thing or two about soft grass and high heels. Sandor looked over at where she pointed. There was a body of water he was sure was manmade and the flowers there were flowers. He had no real interest in that stuff but if Sansa wanted to go look at them he was game. He listened to her go on and on about the different flowers and what they meant and what foods they would go with as they ate hot dogs, drank root beer and alternated throwing a stick.   
“I thought you were making the dress, not planning the entire bloody wedding,” Sandor took a sip of his drink.  
“I was asked to make the dress but you only get married once. It has to be perfect,” Sansa idealised, “Everything has to work together organically and naturally.”   
“Almost nobody gets married only once,” Sandor pointed out.   
“Everyone in my family has,” the redhead informed him, “My mother, my father, aunt Lysa, my brother Robb, my grandparents: from my mother’s side and my father’s. Granted Roslyn dated my brother before my uncle and some people may not think that bodes well but my mom dated my uncle before marrying my father and five kids later they’re still in love. And aunt Lysa’s husband is much older than she is and-”  
Sandor roared with laughter. “Your family belongs in a soap opera,” he told her.   
“Well now that I think about it, I may have given that impression,” she covered her face with her hands so he couldn’t see what face she was making. Sandor couldn’t help but smile (he didn’t know he was doing it). Sansa Stark with her face in her hands and her feet in the dirt. She couldn’t be more beautiful. Beep beep. Sandor was brought back to himself before he got caught staring like a lovestruck idiot. “Wow! That hour went by fast,” Sansa stood and turned off her reminder, “I have to get back to work.”  
Sandor immediately went back into work mode and Sansa felt the shift. “Thank you,” she told him shyly, “For letting me talk your ear off and actually listening. Again.” He just nodded. It’s not that he didn’t want to respond but he couldn’t. He wasn’t the most expressive guy under the best circumstances but he was conditioned to behave a certain way when on duty.   
“Thank you, Stranger,” she literally hugged the dog, “You are an excellent bodyguard,” she looked at Sandor out of the corner of her eye and was fairly certain she’d imagined the corner of his mouth turning up. Sansa picks two of each flower and in a moment of complete girlishness she cuts most of the stem off a freesia with her teeth and sticks it in his pocket. Not quite knowing why, Sansa decides to walk the rest of the way back to work barefoot. Sandor walks behind her, this princess taking a barefoot stroll with her floors. Sure, he’s her bodyguard now but for an hour he was her confidant. And that was the point of today.

AN: This is an actual story now. I’m gonna update it once a week. Please review and once more: if you have a better title, I would love to hear it.


End file.
